


clear the stone of leaves

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Canon Character of Color, Character Death Fix, Character(s) of Color, Community: ante_up_losers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Female Character of Color, Gift Exchange, Male Character of Color, Mindfuck, Multi, POV Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max attempted to create confusion. It's Aisha who uses that confusion to further her own goals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clear the stone of leaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ponderosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/gifts).



> Inspired by 36 Stratagems and a little bit by _Manchurian Candidate_ , too. I apparently have a thing for mindfuck AUs.

When Roque opens his eyes, no one's around. He stares at a white stucco ceiling and wonders if that's why he dreamed about some white asshole in a white suit, talking and tapping, talking and tapping.

He scrubs a hand down his face to shake away the remnants of it and then turns his head to the left. There's a kitchen. He knows he's on the couch. No visible windows, but he guesses it's around 2300. Maybe. He half expected there to be a TV playing infomercials and 1-800 call girls, but the TV's off and the remote is -- he glances around -- probably in the couch somewhere. 

Now that Roque's awake, he's got to piss.

He pushes himself up and shuffles in the dark, following the wall 'til he reaches the door. He stops to check it. Deadbolted and locked. A peek through the peephole only reveals a door across the way and gray walls. 

Roque goes right and finds the bathroom down the short hall. After some fumbling, he finds the light switch. Even with his eyes closed, the light burns through his eyelids. He slaps off the switch and rubs his eyes to get rid of the starburst dots that remind him of … something. Bad dreams maybe. With a service record as long as his, he's got a lot of those.

Why the fuck did he turn on the lights?

He shakes his head and focuses on lifting the toilet seat, pulling out his dick, and pissing. Feels like he stands there forever before he's drained and zipped back up. 

Water's cold when he washes his hands, so he splashes his face next and tries to figure out where the fuck he is. 

He leaves the bathroom and opens the first door that he comes to. Water heater. Next door's a small closet, and the shadow darting across the bottom of it might have been a rat. Roque's stayed in worse shitholes. 

The last door that he comes to is a room. Bed's empty. He doesn't know why he expected someone to be in it. 

He keeps the lights off. The phone rings, and he falls forward. 

~*~

_"Not in the best shape, but you'll do."_

~*~

When Aisha gets that smile -- her teeth a neat row in the slash of her mouth -- Roque shifts from his slouch, straightening his back. She curls her hands around his shoulders. 

As she slides into his lap, she says, "It's a trick," and lowers her head. 

She bites his bottom lip, and he might taste a little blood -- might always taste a little blood. They never fully undress. Aisha does just enough to pull his dick free, and he only jerks up her shirt enough to suck her nipples while she rides him. 

The couch creaks, each rough thrust of her hips moving it into the wall. It never stops her. She fucks him harder, because she doesn't give a shit who hears, and she digs her nails into his shoulders. That doesn't hurt anymore, just makes Roque more aware of the thick rope of scars along his neck and back. The ones that no one wants to talk about. 

When Aisha comes, her spine arches, her head tipped back, the light catching the piercings in her ears. Roque stares at her throat, at the valley of wrinkles in her rucked up shirt, and then he closes his eyes when his orgasm hits. 

After, when they're both a sweaty pair on the couch, he tries to figure this out. Never gets the chance. Especially when Clay joins the mix. 

It happens too seamlessly one afternoon when the rest of the team is out somewhere. Aisha's on top of Roque, limbs loose from her first orgasm. Then Clay appears. He watches at first -- Roque between Aisha's legs, sucking her clit, head clamped between her thighs, because fucking her is always fighting her on every goddamn inch. 

Clay comes closer when Aisha crooks her finger. He stares at Roque like Roque's the fucking stranger and asks, "How?"

Aisha tugs Roque up, curling her arms around him, laugh a puff of air against his ear just before she bites the lobe, too fucking hard like always. 

Roque wants to ask what the fuck this is, too, but Aisha doesn't say a word until she has a leg sprawled over Roque's leg, her head on Clay's chest. 

"That was nice, but I'll still kill you both."

Seems to clear shit up like mud.

~*~

In a dream, some weird white guy says, "Whatever trauma doesn't fix, supplement with drugs."

In a different dream, Aisha leans over Roque and snaps her fingers in front of his face. She punches him, but he doesn't react. She kisses him, and nothing happens then either. 

Then the phone rings. 

~*~

Aisha scratches Roque's chest hard enough that he jerks from it. Doesn't get far when she hooks her fingers into his jeans and smiles at him, shadow cast over half of her face from the single lamp that's on in the room. It tugs at something in his mind but reaching for it only makes it disappear sooner. 

"I know how to turn you on," she whispers. 

~*~

When Roque and Clay fuck, it's Roque fucking Clay over the couch. No one ever uses a fucking bed, but Roque doesn't give a shit. Clay doesn't deserve a bed. Doesn't want one, doesn't need one. 

It's better like this -- Clay bent over the couch, Roque fucking him so hard that the couch scrapes across the floor. 

"Fuck," Clay gasps, and Roque makes Clay say it again, broken this time by a long, rough groan. 

Aisha slides her hands up Roque's ass and settles them on his hips. She's squeezes as she bites his neck, whispering, "'Til selfish gain no longer stain."

Somewhere, a phone rings, and Roque wants someone to answer the goddamn thing. 

He takes the gun that she slides against his palm. Round's already chambered, he knows, so he presses it to the back of Clay's head. 

"The fuck--" is all Clay manages to say. 

Aisha laughs in Roque's ear. "I told you," she says. "Remember this."

~*~

When Roque opens his eyes, he's laying on a couch and has to piss and doesn't know what time it is. 

He sits up, but Aisha's suddenly there, her hands on his shoulders pushing him back down. 

"Where's--"

"Shhh," she whispers, and angles his head back, silencing him with a kiss. "He's in bed. You should be, too. We have a lot of work to do in the morning."

Roque nods and follows her down the hall in the dark.


End file.
